words
by QuietLittleVoices
Summary: "Okay," you say, because you know it's the right thing to say. And then you say it again, "Okay," because it's the only thing that makes sense. ((Dean/Cas, Cas POV, canon compliant but no spoilers))


"I hate you," he says evenly. "I hate you _so fucking much_ sometimes." There's no anger or malice in his tone.

"Okay," you say, because you know it's the right thing to say. And then you say it again, "Okay," because it's the only thing that makes sense. And then you clear your throat and there's silence for a few minutes and, looking away, you say it again, "Okay," and it's not even a word. It's just a string of sounds tumbling out of your all too human mouth, clumsy and indelicate like the word itself. It says nothing at all and everything all at once. It tells him everything that you can't if only he'd listen.

But he's standing there looking at you with sad eyes because all you've said is 'okay' and who invented that word anyway? What does it even _mean_? It can cause so much grief and so much pain but it can cause joy and happiness as well. And all it depends on is how you form it, how the muscles in your face and body move with and around the word to make it more than what it is.

"I love you," you say, because the silence is suffocating and you're not sure you could survive another _second_ without saying it. And so you say it again, "I love you," because you feel it needs repeating; like he needs to be told again to really believe it. And when you look into his eyes you can see the shock there, the pain, the fear, a million different things you can't quite pick out flickering through his eyes and his mouth and the lines of his face. You can't see his soul anymore but you're doing alright with the words written on his face so you say it a third time when you think it'll have the most impact. "I love you."

And he shatters, just like that. Falls forwards and into your arms and you're kissing him, open mouthed and messy and it's all you've ever wanted because his hands are trailing down your sides and his mouth is on yours.

_I love you_, he says against your neck, except he doesn't say it with words; he says it with teeth and tongue pressed against your own. He says it again, _I love you_, when he takes off your shirt and presses his mouth against your hipbones. He breaths it into your mouth, _I love you_, and you feel it curl down your throat and rattle around in your ribs before settling in around your rapidly beating heart.

His fingers dance along your ribs, pressing into them like piano keys and playing you like a harp. Your not sure what to do with yours, so you bury one in his hair and the other grips his shoulder as his mouth moves across your collar bone. You slide your hand to the side of his neck and bring his mouth up to meet yours. In the few seconds that your eyes lock you see something you wouldn't have expected - fear, vulnerability - and you hope it's not reflected back at him. You know he doesn't need the doubt; you're sure enough about this for both of you.

He pulls your shirt over your head and you do the same to his and they end up discarded unceremoniously on the floor. He takes a step forwards and you mirror it with a backwards motion and then your knees hit the edge of the bed and you're going down, down, _down_, until your back hits the comforter and his chest is pressed to yours, the downwards pressure almost suffocating until he brings his knees up next to your hips and pulls back just slightly, though not breaking any contact.

You move backwards, pulling with your elbows, and he follows, toes pressed into your hips, your thighs, as he tries to push down your jeans. You pull your fingers away from their places along his spine and push them off yourself, then you reach up and undo the button on his and they join yours somewhere at the end of the bed.

After that is a scramble, hands on skin just trying to feel as much of him as you can because you hold no illusions - you weren't going to get this again, so you might as well learn as much as possible in the brief moment allotted to you. And you can feel his hands doing the same, roaming your sides and dancing down your spine, and you think that maybe you both want this moment to last. But you don't let yourself hope so you surge up to kiss him, pushing your fingers so hard into his back that you know they're going to leave bruises. And in turn he presses his fingers into your hips, thumbs nestled comfortable in the dip between jutting bones.

The only sounds are your breathing and the sound of skin against skin. Then he gasps your name and shudders slightly, though maybe not in that order, and you're not far behind. He falls on top of you and you don't mind the weight, only rearranging him so your arms aren't trapped.

"I hate you," he says quietly into your hair, and you just nod, feeling yourself drift away as you nuzzle into his neck, enjoying the scent of him. He'll be gone by morning, and you'll be alone, left with this pleasant memory and wondering if it was real at all. His body is warm, and you tuck yourself in as close to him as possible. "I love you," he says against the shell of your ear. You can only make a slight noise of understanding before drifting off to sleep.

And in the morning when you wake up, you're cold.


End file.
